Prospects

"a promise that the rock of the world was founded securely on a fairy's wing"
~F Scott Fitzgerald

I thrive in knowledge
and cannot cease to think.
Yet my favorite realm
is that of which
I cannot know.

The fleeting mystique--
the glow--
of what was the future
is the present
and will be the past.

It has already occurred
over and over
again and again:
The future has fled
into the tomb of the past.

How I longed to see...
and then it has gone,
lost and deeply covered,
into the already seen and heard.

Oh how pretty
as it flies ahead!
But once I have seen it,
it falls to the ground
it is dead.